


Let's Go Away (For a While)

by Gorgos



Category: Mafia (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Cold War, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers, Vietnam War Veteran
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 21:55:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14222595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorgos/pseuds/Gorgos
Summary: Alternate Universe:John Donovan was going to die. John Donovan was sick and it wasn't fair. It wasn't happening.Lincoln rules New Bordeaux, his new (and strange) family by his side. But a mysterous letter lands on his desk...Based on an awesome theory on Reddit !





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on a theory on Reddit: what if John had lung cancer ?  
> A quite sad subject, but very inspiring !  
> As usual, you might find mistakes in this text, but i'm always open to suggestions :)
> 
> Enjoy !

" So, how's your... John Donovan ? " MJ lazily streches and puts his head on the front bench seat, between Lincoln and Roxy's shoulders. The young woman turns down the radio, which was playing the last Creedence hit, and cast a curious glance at Lincoln.

" You'll know when you'll see him " he answers.

" Come on... The man was CIA, can't believe you don't know some... top secret files... "

" Spit it out ! " interrupts Roxy. " It's a goddamn long road and I don't want MJ to start talking about his weed ! "

" It's art, my dear ! "

" You were in 'Nam too, man " says Lincoln.

" You guys were SF. That's something... " remarks the other veteran.

" Yeah, but it was the same fucking war. "

 

* * *

 

_" I'll be alright. You'll be alright. It's time for me to say that I'm proud of you, that you're going to do great things, I know it. But I have to go. C'est la vie. "_

 

These words took his breath away. These words made him punch his desk and throw away everything he gets his hands on. These words made him catch his car's keys and leave New Bordeaux at full speed.

John Donovan was going to die. John Donovan was sick and it wasn't fair. It wasn't happening. But Lincoln remembered the blood on his tee-shirt. His silence the last time they met. This idiot was hiding something, he usually couldn't hold his tongue but this time... He barely opened his mouth. He was afraid that his little secret would escape. Lincoln should have notice. This couldn't be true. Now, it was too late. All he could do was watching his pal being gnawed by cancer.

In the letter, John remained true to himself : vague. He rented a small house in a small town in Michigan, on the shore of the lake. Shabby but discreet : perfect for him. With these sole informations, Lincoln darted north. It was the idea. But the sign « New-Bordeaux » made him park on the side of the road and turn the engine off. He coudn't leave everything behind. He wasn't alone anymore.

There's Roxy. MJ. Good old Vito. Cassandra. Motherfucking Burke. New-Bordeaux was his city, these people were his family.

This morning, colors were blander. The sun was shy between the clouds and it seems to Lincoln that the air was colder. He hit the steering wheel and screamed. In the meantime, night had fallen, bringing some peace. When he finally went back, he found Roxy and MJ, in the middle of what was left of his flat.

 

* * *

 

" It's fine if you don't want to talk 'bout it. " finally says Roxy. The cold north air begins to infiltrate the Samson Drifter.

" Nah, it's... There's some people... Fuck, they just want to heard that a poor guy got his dick blown off and have a good laugh. They don't get it. "

" Someone really ask you this ? " says MJ.

" Yeah. You'll never have the pleasure to meet him, tough. "

" The asshole's dead ? "

" The asshole was a Marcano. Of course, he's dead. "

Roxy sneers. " Marcano, huh ? Can't say it's a surprise... "

Lincoln stays silent, but a souvenir suddenly crosses his mind. " Hmmm...There's a story... Damn, don't even know why I think about this one... It was in '67. Long Tieng, a base in Laos and... I'm talking with some new guys and one of them says to me : " Look at the honky, over there ! ". I turn around : it was John and two older men. Nobody's bawling or anything but you can tell it's tense. And I'm thinking : " What the fuck you're doing, man ? ". He's pointing at them, he smiles but it's the kind of smile that hides something, you know ? "

" What did you do, then ? " asks MJ.

" Few times later, I hear someone laughs. It's him, he's laughing like a madman, people start staring and all... So, I get closer and he's saying things like : " Don't you dare claims yourself americans, piece of shit ! " or " You should go work for Podgorny, fucking traitors ! " Shit... " Lincoln smiles, reminding John's voice, furious and sharp, his fuming air... " Finally, I'm grabbing him by the shoulders and lead us in a small cabin. I ask : " What was that ? Who the fuck are these guys ? " Guess what ? These men were from the Agency. They wanted to convince John to come back home. "

" The guy just ripped off his ticket's home ? Goddamn... He must really loves 'Nam... "

" He believed in it. He tought that we could free these people and protect our country. That was some pretty bullshit. He was so fucking disapointed but he kept fighting, he wanted to make things change. But what could we do ? "

" Yeah, I get you, man. 'Was full of hopes too, before. Then one day, you're knee deep in the mud, riffle in hands and... You don't even know why you're doing this. "

" Hey, that story wasn't half-bad... " admits Roxy, after several silent seconds.

" Think so ? " asks Lincoln.

" It's not everyday you heard about a man who shits on CIA while being in CIA ! But... If he " got a plan " like he said in the letter... You sure we can change his mind and bring his ass back to New-Bordeaux ? "

" Ain't saying it's gonna be easy, but I have to try. If something like that was happening to me... Fuck, I'd like to be with my people. "

" What 'bout him ? Don't seems to carry New-Bordeaux in his heart. I mean, you read the letter, guys... "

" Just look around you. That's what he likes, now. "

" Nobody's perfect... " she remarks, with a mischevious smile on her lips.

A huge and green sign welcomes the group in Michigan : The Great Lakes State. At this time of the year, they were hidden under a thick layer of ice. Just like the massive pines and the vast hills which composes this frosty landscape. Sinious roads remplace highways. No big cities on the horizon. Only frozen expanses, again and again. Miles after miles, miles of liveless path, frozen in ice

 

* * *

 

The letter was the only undamaged thing in the whole room. It was in Roxy's hand, MJ couldn't help looking at it but raised his head to watch Lincoln pass the door.

" Fuck man, I don't know what to say... "

Lincoln didn't know either. John was diying. He will keep breathing, walking, talking... John won't. John will be six feet underground, a skeleton eaten by worms.

 

He couldn't imagine a world without him.

 

Roxy walked towards him and put a comforting hand on his soulder. " Lincoln, talk to us "

" There's nothing to do. He writes that. Fucking. Nothing. "

" Well, actually... " began MJ. He abruptly stopped when he met Lincoln's look, a look burning with anger and distress.

Roxy took his face in her hands : " Hey, you're going to listen to me, Mister Clay. Nobody can cure him but WE can help him, right ? Remember that you run a weed business ? "

" Yeah... "

" It helps with the pain, y'know, " said MJ. " And some of our costumers, they buy weed 'cause they have cancer. It alleviates them. All I'm saying it's that we got tonnes of that shit, why not... initiate him ? "

" When you leave this morning, you were going after him, huh ? " asked Roxy.

" You got that right but... "

" I say we go and find him. We're gonna freeze our poor asses off but it's worth it. "

" You said it, Roxy ! If the man doesn't come to the weed, the weed's gonna come to him. Count on me, brother. "

" You two are killing me, it's not that simple, what... "

" Shh... " she murmured. " We know you have responsabilities. Hell, we all have ! Don't you think you deserve some vacation ? Why the fuck not ? Nothing's impossible with a little bit of organization, ain't that right ? "

" Yeah. Yeah. We can do that. " finally said Lincoln.


	2. Chapter 2

MJ blows in his already frozen hands. " You sure it's here ? " he asks. He has traded his open shirt against a heavy cardigan made in grey wool and his sandals against fur-lined boots. It was a strange look, he didn't belong to this place and never will... None of them, actually. Lincoln has taken out his denim jacket, Roxy was wearing a turtle-neck pullover under her leather coat. They all shiver and keep their hands deep in their pockets.

" It's his goddamn car. " says Lincoln, with a nod toward the orange berline, park in front of a small garage.

" Yeah, but look at this house ! Ain't you talking about a " ramshackle shithole " ? "  remarks Roxy.

" That a veeerrry pretty shithole... " giggles MJ.

Lincoln takes a few steps back to have a better look at the house. Truth be told, it was more a little manor than a house. A manor made of pretty white stones, with blue tiles on top of it. A fine engraving adorn the glazed door. Lincoln knocks. Once, twice... No answer.

" Fuck, I don't like it... "

" Chill out. The guy can be anywhere. " says Roxy.

" Or he can be... No, no way... I'm coming in. "

" Goddamnit Lincoln, you can't... "

Roxy tries to catch Lincoln's sleeve but her hand closes on thin air. The veteran slips in the house with a speed and a precision that betrays his military training. Roxy and MJ follow him closely, copying their steps on its own.

The whole ground floor is plunged into dusk. The light is muffled by green, heavy curtains. His hands slips on the wall, and the more he closes the distance to the angle, the more his heart race. He imagines John, lying in a blood pool. Dead.

 

But a noise catch his attention. The whisper of a machine he knows too well. A recorder.

 

Lincoln leans on the door jamb, arms crossed on his chest. Waiting for John to notice his presence.

_Some things never really changes_ , he thinks. The same hearphone jammed on his head. The same pencil in his hand. The same light eyes scrutinizing a dense files full of notes. John has recreated his little world in this big and empty house, lost in the middle of Michigan. No doubt, it was him.

The agent turns around and aims a pistol with silencer to the unknown shape.

He closes his eyes, then slowly, drops his weapon.

" Jesus fuckin' Christ... "

John heads to Lincoln with impatient steps. They look at each other for a few seconds with a " what the hell are we suppose to do " expression on their faces. _Fuck it_ , finally thinks Lincoln, as he wraps his arms around John. He holds him tight, as tight as he can, maybe too much. He has the feeling that if he let him go from this embrace, he'll lose him forever.

John giggles. " Come here to kill me yourself ? "

" Fuck, man... I'm... " Lincoln takes a step back but keeps a hand on his friend's shoulder. He don't want to break the contact. He still has this tought, at the back of his mind, well hidden in his brain, guiding every movement : it was the last time for everything. The last time he sees his pal, the last time he talks to him, the last time he hugs him... This thought will screw everything.

" Don't sweat it, I'm not dead yet. "

" You certainly aren't. "

John was still John, and it's enough to makes him smile again. He scans for the least change in his appearance, but there's none. He looks fine. He doesn't look sick. For how long ? It wasn't fair. No way he's letting him face this alone.

" Ain't you going to introduce us, Mister Clay ? " Roxy moves on to them, her steps assured anew.

With her arms crossed on her chest, she looks John up and down for a few seconds. But she softens when her eyes catch Lincoln's hand, firmly resting on his friend.

" John, this is Roxy Laveau. I gave her a hand kicking out some racists assholes. " . She gives him a long and franck handshake.

" He helped me, sure, but I did the hard work... "

" And this is MJ "

He greets John in turn. " How you doin' ? "

" I was doing just fine before three intruders broke into my house... "

" For our defense, we didn't came empty-handed... " adds MJ. John turns to Lincoln, a look full of questions, his eyebrows raised.

" He's right. We take the road with a little something for you. 'Know you never were into it but... "

" Cut the shit, Lincoln ! " cuts Roxy. " Boy, we brought our ass up here with a car full of our finest weed, so I'm telling you, if you're not smoking it, I'll do it myself ! And you've been to college, right ? Students loves that shit. Never try it with some friends of yours ? "

" Ooh, I don't want to make you cry with the story of Little John who didn't have any friends to get high with him... But yeah, I know about it. The Agency, of course. We tried to find out the way commies brainwashed good americans citizens and goddamnit... They really tried everything back then. LSD, opium, weed... "

" So, you know it ease the pain. " asks Lincoln.

" I do. By the way, you guys aren't reds, right ? "

" What if we were ? " flings Roxy, with an impish tone.

" Well, Mrs Laveau, I would politely kick your ass back to Moscow. "

" Just try me, John Donovan... "

" Don't worry, we ain't reds. " answers MJ. " You should see the business we build down there... Good ol'capitalism... "

" Enough with the talkin'. MJ, we got a car to unload. "

" I'm right after you, boss. "

Roxy heads for the front door, followed closely by MJ. When John begins to step behind them, Lincoln blocks his way.

" You still can say no, man. Nothing's wrong with that. "

" It won't make things worse. So, how long did you plan to stay ? "

" Tired of us already ? "

" You guys bring gifts, I can't kick you out ! "

" Motherfucker... "

" Hey, I own you a talk. And a punch in the face. "

" Like hell you do "

The letter’s words resonates in him. John tried to explain why, and Lincoln tried to understand. But he only had these words, these sentences write down on paper, to get over it. This “ why ”, he wants to hear it with John’s voice. Face to face.

_" I tried to tell you, but it never comes out right. And one day, it was too late. You were walking in the street of this city, your city, the one you take district by district. And I couldn't take that from you, me and my fucking cancer. You were really busy at the time, so I took my chance and leave. Our roads were softly spliting, like it was supposed to be. But today, I'm writing this letter for one reason : we never lied to each other, NEVER. So I had to tell you this. I hope you will not hate me. But I don’t ask you not to. "_

 

* * *

 

« Never tought I'd get high with the fuckin' Beach Boys... »

MJ lays on the minted-colored carpet. He intensly gazes at the ceiling and gives the impression to discover some new and extraordinary colors. His fingers are dancing before his eyes, following the rhythm of the song escaping from a turntable.

A red sun is setting, filling the room with a warm glow. The thick smoke created by the pots creates a dense mist. The music mixes the sound of an orgue and a guitar, the voices are angelic. In this big and empty living room, the atmosphere is almost mystical.

« Never tought I'd get high... » says John, making them all burst in laughing.

Roxy takes a drag on the joint and brings it to Lincoln’s mouth. She had posed her head on his lap and had closed her eyes. Her chest slowly rises and falls. She looks so calm, so peaceful... In turn, Lincoln slips the joint in John’s hand. Each puff still makes him cough. Not surprising for a first time. Even less surprising considering this herb comes from MJ’s best production. A masterwork.

When his mind isn’t too foggy, Lincoln tries to memorize every little details of this leisurely moment. His hand, lost in Roxy’s black curls. John’s weight against his side, his head well settle on his shoulder. He wants time to stop right here, right now. But the sun will rise again and a new day will start.

Nobody dared break the silence again. The melodies coming from the speaker were like lullabies.

Everything was alright.

 

 


End file.
